


For Sentimental Reasons

by Lucky107



Series: The Wanderer [16]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's obvious from the printing that the letter wasn't written by MacCready himself, but the sentiment is the same - and if there's any chance that the enclosed antidote might save the child's life, she knows she has to take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Sentimental Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons - Sam Cooke - 1957

A midnight rain splatters against the window of the old farmhouse where a single candle burns the darkness away.  The wind outside is fierce - gusty and strong - but the fast-growing boy nestled against Cassidy's bosom doesn't stir.  No, little Duncan is fast asleep on the long road to recovery.

Cassidy distracts herself by toying with the corner of the folded paper in her hand—a letter she received earlier in the day.

_Cassidy,_

_There was only one dose of the antidote for Duncan.  If there's any chance we can save him, this has to be it, so please administer it as soon as you receive this from Daisy's caravan._

_Forever in your debt,_

_R.J. MacCready_

It's obvious from the printing that the letter wasn't written by MacCready himself, but the sentiment is the same - and Cassidy knows better than to question the contents.  If there was any chance that the enclosed antidote might save the child's life, she knew she had to take it.

But she's been sitting in this same seat with the boy, watching that same candle burn and playing with that same corner of paper, ever since administering the shot.

His breathing is still regular, at least... Cassidy resolves, placing a soft kiss in the boy's messy brown hair.  Her lips linger there and she closes her tired eyes, her warm breath caressing the boy in his sleep.  His weight is unfamiliar in her lap, but his warmth brings a welcome comfort... a sense of normality.

In the darkness behind her, her companion stirs from his sleep.  Groggily, Butch asks, "You still awake?"

"Hardly," Cassidy confesses, though she offers him a half-smile.

It would be impossible for her to sleep with the small boy in her arms walking that fine line between life and death.  She didn't know what she was getting into when she agreed to look after Duncan for MacCready at his old, run-down homestead, but she's in too deep to turn back now.

There's more movement - the rustling of fabric - but she's too caught up in trying to keep herself awake to bother searching for the source.  It's just Butch, she knows, and then his large hands are on her shoulders.

"Let me take over," he coaxes.  "You've been here all day - you need to rest, Cassidy, or you'll be in no shape to get Duncan back to MacCready in Boston."

Cassidy leans back into the welcoming warmth of her companion's shoulder and argues, "I need to make sure he lasts the night."  It's hard to argue with her heavy eyes, though, and if there's one person in the entire world that she knows she can trust, it's Butch DeLoria.

"C'mon," Butch says, carefully easing the sleeping boy into his own arms.  It's impressive, Cassidy realises, that Butch is able to hold the growing boy with one arm like this, but they're no longer just kids themselves.

Somewhere along the way, they grew ten years.

When Cassidy stands, however, Butch catches her small shoulder with his large hand and adds, "Hey, Cass... you ever, y'know, think about having one of your own?"

For a moment, she searches his face for signs of truth as if there might be a possibility of motherhood in her future, but she catches the smug smile that tugs at the corners of his lips in the flicker of the candle.  With a playful shove, she reprimands, "Piss off, Butch."


End file.
